


Paper Airplanes

by spitfyah



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Growing Up Together, M/M, Minor Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Slow Burn, it's more like implied smut, it's non graphic don't worry, more or less
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spitfyah/pseuds/spitfyah
Summary: There’s nothing behind him but the concrete wall, and Issei is pretty sure that walls can’t throw things, although that’d be a good idea for one of his stories. He looks up; there’s a boy leaning out his window from the old house next door, smirking. He has strawberry blonde hair and round amber eyes and dazzling pink braces, and Issei despises the strange feeling in his chest as he gazes up at his neighbour.“Don’t throw things at people you don’t know,” Issei huffs, turning back around. He doesn’t like this person. People make him feel uncomfortable.This boy makes him feel more than uncomfortable.(Or, Matsukawa falls head over heels in love with Hanamaki at first sight.)





	Paper Airplanes

**Author's Note:**

> I've designed the four main characters around the MBTI types; Matsukawa as an INFP, Hanamaki as an ESFP, Iwaizumi as a ENFJ, and Oikawa as an INTJ. 
> 
> The types I've picked for them are quite unconventional, but I feel confident that I've reflected their traits well in the story. :)

Matsukawa Issei’s eyes land upon Hanamaki Takahiro in April.

 

At the time, Issei is only 13, a second year in Junior High, playing in his third volleyball tournament. His arms are too long and his legs are too lanky and his knees are too wobbly to be considered coordinated, yet he loves the sport, can’t go four minutes without tossing a volleyball in his bed or against the wall or in detention (a place he finds himself at regularly). He is a starter, a middle blocker, because his coach sees something in him, like a torch, maybe: bright and beckoning and absolute.

 

Issei doesn’t think he’s absolute. He doesn’t think he’s that good at volleyball, anyway. But he plays it feverently, every hour available of every day, and he loves it. He loves the feel of the ball against his palm, the smell of leather and aerosol spray, the sound of teams cheering around him as he prepares to play in a huge gym with wild fans shouting from the stands.

 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever love anything more.

 

“Matsukawa,” his coach says, pointing to the court. “The next team we face has a tough little wing spiker almost as tall as you. You’ll have to watch him closely. His tempo is quite clever, and he feints when you don’t expect it.”

 

His coach rambles on, but Issei doesn’t quite understand what he means by ‘tempo’ and ‘feints’. He has to be able to see things for himself in order to understand, so those words go through one ear and out the other. He just wants to play.

 

Interrupting his coach, the referee blows her whistle for captains. Issei jogs to the side of the court, grateful to have an escape, and lifts his head to meet his opponent.

 

“Hanamaki,” the other captain introduces himself with a glare, stretching out a hand. Issei, put off by the other’s stare, reluctantly shakes his hand, grumbling, “Matsukawa.”

 

Issei discovers his coach was right about whatever he was talking about. The feisty captain  _ is  _ their opponent’s wing spiker, and is tough to handle. His jumps are slower and his hits have a different timing than what Issei usually blocks. Hanamaki actually _ thinks out  _ how to confuse a blocker.

 

_ What junior high boy actually thinks things out? _ Issei muses. It’s frustrating. He’s only ever encountered one spiker he couldn’t block, a short boy his age from Kitagawa. That thought pisses him off, and this time, when he jumps up to block Hanamaki, the ball skims off his fingers.

 

His eyes catch Hanamaki’s during a timeout, round and curious. it’s altogether different than the glare from before. Issei, socially awkward and still sore from Hanamaki’s rudeness, glares at him and turns his head away.

 

Issei finally adjusts to Hanamaki’s timing, but as he does, Hanamaki purposefully tips the ball over Issei’s hands instead of spiking. As if he couldn’t agitate Issei more, he shoots a lazy smile at the blocker, then turns around to clap his teammate’s hands. Boiling in his shoes, Issei grits his teeth, lips curved downward sharply.

 

He feels like he has to prove to Hanamaki that he is good at blocking, good at volleyball. Feeling  _ competitive  _ is something he’s never actually felt before. This strange wing spiker has awakened something inside him, something new and exciting, like rivalry, even though Issei considers himself kind and quiet and uncompetitive (he can’t even bear the thought that he kills ants on a daily basis).

 

To Issei, it usually always feels good to block a spike in a match, nothing more, nothing less. When he finally completely blocks Hanamaki’s off-tempo spike, it feels  _ awesome. _

 

Even though Issei’s team loses the game, he can’t help but watch Hanamaki and feel excited. He’s always loved volleyball. But suddenly, it feels different. He  _ wants  _ to listen to what his coach says. He  _ wants  _ to learn the technical side of volleyball. He desires to have an acute game sense, all because of this one, infuriating wing spiker.

 

Issei studies his face one last time, and then walks out of the gym.

 

  * \-    -



 

The train Issei rides rocks back and forth, jostling its seated passengers. Sleepily, he rubs his eyes, staring out the window. He watches trees and grass and houses and people pass by, and he sighs. Rain splats against the windows. It’s been a long, unbearably lonely day, just like usual.

 

Issei’s life is monotonous, but he won’t do anything to change it.  _ That’s how middle school is,  _ he reasons.  _ I’ll make friends in high school, and everything will change. _

 

With middle school having ended today, Issei is banking on that hope.

 

When he arrives home, he realizes there are moving boxes on the porch of the house next door. It’s strange, because that house has been empty since he’s lived here, and Issei has always prefered silence to people, so the sight makes him feel uncomfortable. Before he can investigate, the door to his own house flies open; his older sister hangs out the door frame, beaming. “Issei! A family finally moved in next door!”

 

“I can see that,” he replies. “Why would anyone buy that rickety old-”

 

“Apparently, their son wants to get into Aoba Johsai,” she cuts him off, eyes bright. “They moved to be in the district.”

 

“How do you know all that?”

 

“I met the mother! She’s sweet.”

 

“Akane, you’re so  _ nosy _ .” Issei glances up at her, smiling. Akane ruffles his hair and laughs, walking inside. Issei haphazardly throws his bag inside, grabs the volleyball sitting on the porch, and runs down to the side of the house, where he practices daily.

 

The ball hits continuously against the house panels, a sound that bothers the entire neighborhood if they aren’t used to it yet. Issei practices every minute of every second of every day, and yet his coach still is not satisfied. His hands are huge and his fingers are too long and apparently, his coach thinks “he has butterfingers” or whatever  _ that  _ means. One of his teammates told him it means that he can’t set. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s going to be on a new team with a new coach and new teammates in a matter of weeks.

 

Issei doesn’t think setting is that important, anyway.

 

That’s when something pointy strikes the back of his head. The ball drops to the ground, forgotten, and Issei whirls around, eyebrows furrowed. “ _ Hey!” _

 

There’s nothing behind him but the concrete wall, and Issei is  _ pretty _ sure that walls can’t throw things, although that’d be a good idea for one of his stories. He looks up; there’s a boy leaning out his window from the old house next door, smirking. He has strawberry blonde hair and round amber eyes and dazzling pink braces, and Issei despises the strange feeling in his chest as he gazes up at his neighbor.

 

“Don’t throw things at people you don’t know,” Issei huffs, turning back around. He doesn’t like this person. People make him feel uncomfortable. This boy makes him feel  _ more  _ than uncomfortable.

 

“I play volleyball, too.”

 

“I don’t  _ care.  _ Go away.”

 

“Are you usually this rude to ev-  _ Hey _ !” His weird neighbor covers his face as Issei hurls the ball up at his head, hitting him with a satisfying thump. Instead of yelling, he laughs, eyes crinkling and ridiculous braces visible. Issei fumes, decides in a split second that he’ll never play volleyball outside again, and storms inside.

 

His sister hears the door slam and asks, “Back so soon?”

 

“I hate the neighbors. Would I go to jail for arson? Because I hate them.”

 

She laughs from the kitchen. “It’s unfortunate you didn’t inherit my extroverted charm.” Issei pouts and storms upstairs, musing about how unfair his life is. It gets worse; his window is directly across from his neighbor’s, who waves obnoxiously. Scowling, Issei closes the curtains with a little bit more force than necessary.

 

He definitely does  _ not  _ like the new neighbors.

 

  * \-    -



 

“Hi!”

 

It’s Issei’s first day of summer break. He planned on reading, writing, reading, eating, reading, and sleeping. Nowhere in that list included interacting with the neighbour who will  _ not  _ stop trying to get his attention. It’s a shame that Issei prefers natural light, because now he has to suffer with the window open.

 

“ _ Heeeey!  _ I’m sorry for hitting you! Talk to me!”

 

Resolutely, Issei keeps his back to the window, sitting on his bed with a book. He’s stared at page 103 for about ten minutes now. Usually, nothing comes between him and reading, besides food. This kid  _ really  _ grates on his nerves.

 

After another five minutes, the noise stops, and Issei sighs.  _ Finally.  _ He’s about to reach page 104 when a cool breeze rustles the curtains, and something lazily glides into the room, landing beside him: a paper airplane. Wind-chimes sound outside, another nuisance Issei has had to put up with since the next door neighbors moved in.

 

Sighing, he gives in, reaching over and unfolding the paper airplane. He reads the note, scrawled in messy Japanese:

 

_ Hi! This is your friendly neighbor again, trying to get to know you for the billionth time. My name is Hanamaki Takahiro, but since I like you, you can call me Makki. I’m sorry I hit you, but you zone out when you play volleyball, and I couldn’t get your attention any other way. I play volleyball too! We should play together. I don’t know anyone else here who plays except you. _

 

_ You should tell me your name. _

 

Issei remembers playing a “Hanamaki” months ago. Narrowing his eyes, he scribbles a reply.

 

_ I’ve played you before. My name’s Matsukawa Issei. Now leave me alone. _

 

He turns, flicks his wrist, and sends his first of many paper airplanes gliding into Hanamaki’s window.

 

  * \-     -



 

They trade flimsy airplanes for days. It’s a strange relationship, Issei decides, because he doesn’t really  _ not  _ like Makki, not anymore. But he’s hesitant to make friends. Trusting other people with your vulnerability is scary. But this is. . . nice, he supposes.

 

Issei doesn’t like to talk to people, he stresses in one note. It’s nothing personal. He’s a nervous wreck, and it usually comes out rude and aloof. Makki’s reply is quick:  _ That’s ok. It’s a good thing I won’t stop bothering you, then! _

 

One day, Issei realizes that he’s starting to enjoy Makki’s company. It’s nice to write to him, and it’s nice that Makki listens. No one else listens. Makki is special.

 

So, he looks up and turns to the window when he hears the door of his neighbor’s room open. He coughs to get Hanamaki’s attention, keeping his expression neutral, because opening up to people is scary and ever since elementary school, Issei has been alone.

 

Makki leans out the window, palms against his cheeks, and shines a bright smile when Issei finally looks at him.

 

“Hi.”

 

Issei gathers up his courage and leans out the window, eyes darting around before finally meeting his neighbor’s.

 

“Hello,” he murmurs, holding up one of their many crumpled paper airplanes. “Um, you  . . . you asked me if. . .” Issei squeezes his eyes shut and blurts out, “If you wanted to be friends, and I’ll probably be a terrible friend because I’ve never had one before, but if you want, I could try. For you. If you want.”

 

A gust of wind rustles their hair back and forth. Issei, in this stretch of silence, smells the aroma of sea salt that the wind has carried inland, and hears the gentle sound of chimes clinking together _. _

 

He opens one eye and peeks at his neighbor, whose eyes are wide and happy. Issei didn’t expect that.  _ He isn’t like the others at school, not at all. _

 

“ _ Yes! _ I’m coming over right now!”

 

Jolting, Issei fumbles with the airplane in his hand, protesting, “W-wait-!” Too late. The opposing window shuts, and Issei hears frantic knocking at his door in moments. He breaths in, eyes wide, and opens his bedroom door slightly, peering uncertainly downstairs. His sister opens the front door to a cheeky-looking Makki, who chirps, “Hello! Are you Matsukawa-kun’s mother?”

 

Akane looks shocked. “I’m. . . his sister. And you are?”

 

“Takahiro Hanamaki!” He announces, flashing his bright pink braces as he grins. “I’m Matsukawa-kun’s friend. He invited me over!”

 

Issei splutters, flushing as Akane turns to look up at him with a curious smile. “I did  _ not!”  _ He retorts hotly, but she’s already opening the door wider, and by now, Issei knows he’s doomed.

 

Hanamaki sprints inside and races up the stairs, screeching when Issei slams the door on his face. He pounds at the door and cries out, “Hey! Let me in! I’m gonna break down this door, you hear me?!”

 

Issei slides his back down the door, covering his scarlet face. Makki will  _ not  _ step a foot into his bedroom until his face returns to a healthy color and his heartbeat returns to normal.

 

_ I’m Matsukawa-kun’s friend,  _ he had said. Issei keeps replaying the words in his mind, and he can’t stop his lips from spreading into a smile.

 

Just as he opens the door, Makki comes tumbling in, bowling into Issei and sending them onto the floor with a loud thud. Issei opens his eyes and stares up at Makki, who looks wonderstruck. “You have blue eyes. They’re _ really _ pretty.”

 

Issei’s heartbeat stops, and as he registers the words, he flushes down to his neck. Roughly he pushes Makki off, turning away his red face and squeezing his eyes shut. Makki’s bright, happy laugh echoes through the room.

 

  * \-    -



 

“Issei!” Akane calls from downstairs. “Takahiro’s here!”

 

Stumbling into his pants, Issei almost knocks over a lamp as he races out of his room, grabbing his backpack and almost tripping down the stairs. The doorbell rings for the 80th time when Issei  _ finally  _ opens the door, facing a grinning Makki, holding a volleyball under one arm and a fishing pole under the other.

 

“Be back for dinner!” Akane reminds Issei, but the two boys are already out the door and hopping on their bikes, regardless of the words.

 

“I found a  _ really  _ cool pond,” Makki tells him, and Issei smiles. During the three weeks he has spent with his new friend, he’s learned that Hanamaki loves to fish but really sucks at it, loves to play volleyball and is really good at it, and that he never, ever stops smiling.

 

“I hope you don’t get us lost again.”

 

“Have a little faith, jerk!” He glances over at Issei, smirking. That’s another thing Issei has learned; he likes to throw around insults, but they actually don’t mean anything. The first time Hanamaki called him a jerk, Issei wouldn’t accept paper airplanes through his window for an entire day.

 

They end up abandoning their bikes on the side of the road, and race through wild, long grass that brushes their waists. Makki glances back, just to make sure Issei is with him.  _ I’m not going anywhere,  _ Issei wants to say. Makki smiles, as if he knows, and continues to lead the way.

 

Exploration leads them to a forested area, and even though it pricks in the back of Issei’s mind that they certainly will  _ not  _ be back for dinner, he’d rather get lost with Makki.

 

“We’re close,” Hanamaki breathes out, looking back at Issei with a blinding grin. “I’ve wanted to come out here for awhile now, so I’m glad you’re with me.”

 

Issei still can’t control the embarrassed flush that creeps up his neck. He turns his head away and mutters, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

 

Makki gives an amused, knowing laugh. “Oh, of  _ course _ not.”

 

Finally, they reach the edge of the woods and arrive at the pond that Hanamaki has raved about for approximately an hour. Issei feels the urge to write, so he wrestles off his backpack and plops down, right in the middle of grass and mud and twigs. Makki’s already used to Issei’s endearing habit of stopping  _ anything _ he’s doing to write, so he walks ahead and sits at the edge of the pond, fishing pole in hand.

 

They stay in their own world for hours. Issei writes about adventures and ponds and paper airplanes and fishing and  _ Makki. _

 

Eventually he joins his friend at the edge of the water, watching their reflections shimmer. Makki nudges his shoulder, and Issei pushes back, trying and failing not to smile. “You should really take up a career in fishing, since you’re  _ so  _ good at it.”

 

Hanamaki gasps in mock offense, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me! I’ll have you know-  _ WAH!”  _ The fishing line suddenly jerks forward, and Makki almost tumbles into the pond. Issei grabs his waist and pulls him back, but he too is unbalanced. With matching cries, they both slide off the bank and plunge into the lukewarm water.

 

Makki surfaces first, laughter bubbling out into the crisp air. “I caught a fish! I caught a  _ fish!” _

 

“You  _ almost  _ caught a fish,” Issei cackles, cupping his hands and splashing his friend. Hanamaki flinches and kicks water up with a vengeance, until Issei begs, “Stop! You win!  _ Stop!” _

 

They’re both delirious with laughter by the time they crawl back up to the bank, drying off in the grass and laying on their backs. Issei sighs out, content. He’s always prefered silence to people, but he now prefers Makki to silence.

 

“Hey, Issei.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do you miss your parents?”

 

Issei ponders this, but not for too long, since he knows Makki is impatient. “Not really, I guess. I barely knew them, anyway, so it’s always been me and Akane. I like it better that way.” Makki nods, looking back up to the sky. Issei turns his head, gazing at his friend’s profile. “What about you? Do you miss your dad?”

 

He’s generally avoided this topic like the plague, but today, Hanamaki replies, “Yeah, a little bit. But it’s because of my little sisters. They always ask for him, and mom makes up answers, but I know they’re just excuses.” He looks bitter, and Issei doesn’t think it suits Makki’s face. “He’s never coming back.”

 

Issei keeps quiet, and Makki perks back up again. “Let’s play volleyball!”

 

They toss the ball around for hours. Hanamaki’s ridiculously talented and Issei envies his hands, how well they can set. He wonders if his old coach would remember Makki, the talented little wing spiker that had given his team such a hard time months ago.

 

“Hey, Makki,” Issei says after a spike. It’s over his head, but Hanamaki receives it perfectly with his hands, glancing at him to go on. “How do you set like that?”

 

“Oh, it’s easy. Pretend like you’re holding a glass pitcher over your head. Try it!”

 

It’s not easy, but it helps, Issei decides. “Were you a setter?”

 

“Yeah, but near the end of the season, I started playing wing spiker. My coach said that I could help the team in that position.” He frowns. “I like setting, though.”

 

Maybe setting  _ is _ important. After all, every hitter has to have a great setter, so Issei smiles and decides that Hanamaki can be  _ his _ setter. “Are you going to Aoba Johsai?”

 

Makki shrugs, receiving another of Issei’s hits. “If they’ll accept me.” After a moment of just the sounds of a worn volleyball hitting skin, he asks, “What about you?”

 

Issei should spike the ball again, but instead he lets it drop. Makki glances at him curiously. “I’ve been accepted, but I. . . I’m not sure.” He’s not sure how to word what he wants to say without seeming needy, but to go to a school without Hanamaki would be  _ hell.  _ “It. . . would be nice if you could get in to Aoba Johsai, though.” He feels himself reddening, and rubs his palm over his neck. “You know. It wouldn’t be the same. . . without. . .”

 

Makki seems to know where he’s getting at. He smiles, walking a little bit closer. “I really want to play on the same team with my best friend, so they better accept me!”

 

Issei rolls his eyes and picks up the volleyball, trying to hide his elation. Makki’s words have too much of an effect on him, but he supposes he doesn’t mind.

 

  * \-    -



 

Akane and Issei like to watch scary movies on Saturday nights. Throughout their various paper airplane conversations, Issei discovers that Hanamaki also loves scary movies, and so he invites his friend over. It will be the first time Hanamaki spends the night, and Issei is already regretting it even though Makki hasn’t even walked through the door.

 

“I thought you two were friends, so why are you feeling this way?” Akane asks after Issei vents to her. “And weren’t you the one who invited him?”

 

Issei groans and covers his face, slumping at the table and kicking his legs out. “Of course he’s my friend. But. . .” He can’t find the words. When he writes, he never has this problem.

 

Akane seems to understand, and places a plate of zundamochi in front of him. “If you really like him, you’ll enjoy it, right?”

 

The doorbell rings, and Akane walks out of the kitchen to let Hanamaki in. She calls him “Hana-kun” and Makki calls her “Matsu-ne”, and Issei is pleased that they get along so well. Their personalities are similar, but they don’t clash.

 

Makki bounces right up to Issei, who is still stuffing his face with food. “I brought the movies you asked for! This is gonna be awesome! Come  _ on!”  _ He latches onto Issei’s arm and tries to drag him away, whining.

 

Laughing, Issei decides he’d rather be with Hanamaki than food, and that this wasn’t a bad idea, after all.

 

  * \-    -



 

“Summer break is too short,” Makki complains one day, slumped across Issei’s bed. It’s raining, so they can’t go outside to their usual spot. Issei sits on the floor, writing. “I don’t want to start high school, not yet.”

 

Issei hums thoughtfully. “You’re the type of person that should enjoy it, though. You’ll make lots of new friends, and. . .” he trails off, and the room feels darker and more gloomy. Makki curiously sits up, sensing the tense atmosphere.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“I don’t know,” Issei grumbles. His writing falters, but he doesn’t look up. Makki will make new friends when they start high school.  _ New  _ friends. Friends that aren’t Issei.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Makki asks, sliding off the bed and sitting in front of him. “I’m not a mind reader.”

 

Issei sighs. Makki is too honest, and pure, and wonderful, and Issei doesn’t want to drag him down with his selfishness. “It’s nothing. Leave it alone.”

 

Hanamaki doesn’t know yet when to push and when to leave him alone, so he chooses the safe route. Quietly, he draws away from him, tossing the volleyball up into the air.

 

_ I want you all to myself,  _ is what Issei wishes to say.

 

  * \-    -



 

There are two more weeks until high school starts, and Issei dreads it. He’s considered arson more than once; Makki and Akane always joke that it’s unhealthy for a such a gentle soul to think about arson constantly.

 

Issei wants to stay comfortable and happy in his house with Akane and Hanamaki. School is useless, and he doesn’t learn anything, anyway. He’s only doing it for volleyball.

 

As he walks into his house with groceries, a slightly shorter flurry of strawberry blonde hair launches at him. Issei yelps in surprise, stumbling back. He looks down to see Hanamaki, eyes squeezed shut and vibrating with excitement. “What the. . .”

 

“Hana-kun was accepted into Aoba Johsai!” Akane peers around the corner, sporting a wide smile of her own.

 

Issei’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” he breathes out, looking down at his friend. “That’s. . . that’s awesome!” It takes a moment for him to realize what it means.  _ Wait. That means. . . Hanamaki and I. . . will be playing volleyball together! _

 

When it clicks, both are screaming and jumping up and down, and Akane laughs.

 

  * \-     -



 

They don’t know anything about the team, nor Aoba Johsai, so they practice hard in the days leading up to the start of school. Issei’s hands have grown sturdier and he’s pretty sure his old coach wouldn’t be calling him ‘butterfingers’ if he saw Issei now.

 

“Hey,” Makki asks, catching the ball instead of returning it. “I know an outdoor place with a net. I could try setting to you, if you want.”

 

_ Every spiker needs a setter,  _ Issei thinks, and replies cheerfully, “Sure.”

 

Makki grins, dragging Issei with him to go grab his bike. “What time do you have to be home?”

 

“Akane won’t be home until late. She’s working evening shifts at the hospital now.” Issei tries not to sound disappointed, but it seems like Hanamaki picks up on it, anyway.

 

“I guess that means I’ll be staying at your house when she isn’t home!” He decides resolutely. Issei smiles, spirits lifted, and they ride their bikes to the park Makki has raved about since this morning. It’s small, no one is there, the net is the perfect height, and Issei decides he likes this park almost as much as their secluded fishing pond.

 

Makki is a good setter, Issei muses. His set is different, unique; he jumps up just as the ball touches his hands. It’s called a ‘jump set’, more difficult than a regular set, a hard technique to learn. It’s hard for Issei to adjust, since he’s only ever had regular sets during his volleyball career.

 

However, Hanamaki has no difficulty adjusting to Issei’s jump, and with some work, they start to sync. More than enough times the ball flies over Issei, or smacks him in the face, and Hanamaki laughs at his pain. It’s fun, so Issei doesn’t mind.

 

Makki sets him a quick and Issei smacks it over; both dance around each other and fist bump in excitement. “If we keep practicing, we can be the best duo in Miyagi!” Hanamaki declares. He shouts in his best announcer voice, “And now! For the duo you’ve all been waiting for! Hanamaki Takahiro, setter, and Matsukawa Issei, middle blocker!”

 

Issei huffs with laughter, spiking the ball at his face. “You have a stupid announcer voice.” Makki yelps and falls on his butt, but his glare is more playful than anything. With a sudden rush of affection, Issei looks up at the evening sky and murmurs, “You’re the only setter I want.”

 

Hanamaki stares at him and uncharacteristically flushes, wordless. Thrown off by his expression, Issei’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t take back his statement. Instead, he turns, wishes Makki a flustered goodbye, and rides home, mortified but a little bit proud of himself.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, there’s a paper airplane sitting at the foot of his bed.

 

_ You’re the only spiker I want, idiot. _

 

  * \-    -



 

Issei’s paradise is a day away from ending. He’s barely known Makki for a month, but his insecurities are returning. If he loses his only friend, he’ll lock himself in his room forever and deprive all society from his presence.

 

To distract himself, he writes about adventures and ponds and paper airplanes and fishing and Makki until his stomach growls and his head hurts and his hands cramp. Something glides into his window, and rolling around on his stomach, Issei picks up the paper airplane from the floor.

 

_ Hey! You’ve been in your room for hours. Go eat. _

 

Biting back a smile, Issei tears out a page from his notebook, writes his own note, and folds it into an airplane. He leans out the window and flicks his wrist, the flimsy thing sailing right into his neighbor’s window.

 

_ Thanks, you jerk. _

 

Of course, Issei waits until Makki leans out his own window, hands on his cheeks. “Before I forget, my mom wants to have you and your sister over. If you want.”

 

In the month they’ve know each other, Issei’s never been to Makki’s house. Hanamaki’s asked several times, but Issei gets uncomfortable when he’s not at home. Other people overwhelm him, and Makki has three younger sisters- that’s equivalent to four Makki’s in one house- and as much as Issei likes Makki, he’s not sure he could handle four of them.

 

But school’s starting tomorrow. Hanamaki might make new friends. Hanamaki might invite  _ them  _ over, because Issei will never come over.

 

“. . .Ok. I’ll ask,” Issei mumbles, and races out of the room before Makki can reply. He already knows what Akane will say. He’s doomed.

 

  * \-    -



 

Issei was right. Makki’s sisters vibrate with energy, screaming and racing around and hanging off of Issei’s limbs like he’s a tree. But Makki laughs, calls him cute, and takes pictures with his mother’s phone, so it makes the situation more bearable. Dinner is made quickly anyway, and they all sit down to eat.

 

Makki’s family is bigger than he thought. He has an older brother at university in Tokyo, two irritating cousins that live close by, and his younger sisters are actually triplets. He is protective of his mother, and extremely proud of her cooking abilities, and he obviously loves his sisters. His mother’s name is Ikumi, and his sisters all have names that start with an A, but Issei can’t exactly remember them. He learns a bit more about Makki’s father. He walked out before the triplets were born. Makki’s mother doesn’t say much about him, but Issei can infer he was a douchebag. If he ever comes back, Issei vows to beat him up for them.

 

He likes Hanamaki’s family more than he’d ever care to admit.

 

After dinner, Hanamaki hauls Issei upstairs and into his room, locking everyone else out. He looks a bit antsy, so Issei plops down on the floor and asks, “Wanna play Mario Kart?”

 

Makki brightens at the mention of his favorite game. Issei beats him every time.

 

“You’re  _ cheating _ !” He cries out after his 17th loss, shoving a laughing Issei off his futon.

 

“No, you just suck."

 

Makki gives up and throws his nintendo across the room, sprawling across his futon with a loud sigh. Issei lays beside him, and their eyes meet.

 

“Can I tell you something?” Makki asks, rolling onto his side. He looks vulnerable, which is a strange expression on him. Issei nods.

 

“When I was eight, my father walked out on us. But I’ve never told anyone why.”

 

Issei bites his lip, nervous for some reason. Makki continues, “But I like you, and you’re my best friend, so I’m going to tell you. You can’t tell anyone, ok?”

 

“Ok,” Issei promises.  _ You’re my best friend,  _ the words echo in his mind.

 

“We found out, that eight years before-  right around the time my mother was pregnant with me- he. . . had an affair with another woman,” Makki bites out, closing his eyes. “And we found out that she. . . had been pregnant with his child. So, I have a half-brother that’s six months older than I am. Anyway, she had sent him a letter asking him to help her raise the kid. She even came to our house to  _ beg.  _ Of course, he was a scumbag, so he didn’t want to go live with her. But my mom kicked him out. I don’t blame her.” He sucks in a breath. “And he disappeared.”

 

Issei wants to track down this douchebag and set him on fire, but he keeps quiet.

 

“Last year, my team went up against Kitagawa Daiichi in the tournament.”

 

Issei remembers the powerful team. He remembers the one spiker he couldn’t block, a short boy his age from Kitagawa. He’s not sure why Makki’s bringing this up, unless. . .

 

“And we saw  _ her _ in the stands.”

 

“The woman he had an affair with?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Issei tries to put the pieces together. “So. . . your half-brother played on Kitagawa?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh.” He hesitates. “Did she. . . get married?”

 

“Apparently. We looked through the directory, but none of the players had our surname. They probably took the step-father’s name. My mother didn’t want to stick around and find out. We rushed out of that gym, quick. There’s no way of knowing who my half-brother was.” Makki looks bitter as he finishes.

 

Issei’s not sure what to say, so he sits up and places his hand over Makki’s. After a moment of thinking, he murmurs, “You don’t have to be ashamed or anything. And. . . you’re not inferior to that kid just because your dad had an affair when your mom was pregnant with you. And it’s not like you’ll ever see this kid again.”

 

He’s afraid the words are insensitive, or maybe that they don’t make sense. But Makki grins, pink braces and all, and hugs Issei tight.

 

“I still think you’re a cheater,” he replies, and the two laugh.

 

Issei decides that he not only hates Makki’s father, but his half-brother, too.

 

  * \-    -



 

The doorbell rings for the 80th time, and Issei hears Akane yell groggily from her room, “ _ Issei,  _ get the goddamn door!”

 

“Language,” Issei snaps back, trying to dress in his uniform while packing his sports bag and backpack at the same time. Makki is impatient, like usual; Issei chides himself for thinking that anything would change because of last night.

 

They walk together to Aoba Johsai high school, a little nervous and a little excited. Makki vibrates with energy beside him, talking his ear off a mile a minute.

 

“You had your window closed this morning. I was going to send you a note, jerk!”

 

“I slept in, because I wasn’t ready for hell to start.”

 

Makki rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. It won’t be that bad, you loser.”

 

Issei can’t help but smile, shoving his shoulder. They finally approach Aoba Johsai, and kids are buzzing  _ everywhere.  _ Students hang out in their cliques, girls giggle and squeal whenever a tall basketball player walks by, and other clubs are handing out flyers, trying to recruit 1st years onto their teams. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, lining the sidewalks; it resembles the schools in Issei’s manga. He gulps, already overwhelmed.

 

_ It’s going to be a long day. _

 

And of course, luck is  _ always _ on his side; Makki is placed in the class above him. Issei isn’t ready for this kind of suffering.

 

“I’m just a hall down from you,” Makki sighs. He also looks disappointed, but he still manages to smile. “I’ll find you at lunch, ok? And after school, we’ll head to the gym!”

 

“Ok,” Issei says, waving goodbye.  _ Don’t make any other friends while you’re gone. _

 

  * \-    -



 

The homework is already piling up. Issei is miserable. Not even lunch can save him at this point. He judges everyone around him as either cliquey, not worth his time, rude, or popular, and wishes desperately that Makki was there.

 

Although, Makki is probably already making friends. He’s probably having a  _ great  _ time, and that thought makes Issei bitter. When class is finally dismissed, he speed-walks to his locker, sticking his head into it and sighing in relief.

 

“Tough day?” Someone asks beside him. Issei wants to snap  _ go away,  _ but instead he turns and glances at the boy beside him. He’s shorter and has spiky hair, and Issei knows exactly who he is.

 

“Iwaizumi?”

 

He looks surprised, and takes a step back suspiciously. “Yes. . .?”

 

Issei huffs and looks away, taking out his lunch. “I played your team once. Volleyball match. Couldn’t block you.”  _ You’re from Kitagawa. You could be Makki’s half-brother. Makki feels inferior, thanks to you. _

 

“Oh.” Iwaizumi looks a bit sheepish, actually. Issei doesn’t want to make new friends, but this guy. . . he’s genuine. “Um. Sorry? I think?”

 

Issei almost wants to  _ smile,  _ and that makes him mad.  _ I only smile for Makki. I’m supposed to be friends with Makki. Not you. _

 

Before he can open his mouth, someone behind Iwaizumi cries out, “ _ Iwa-chan! _ Why are you talking to other people?” The other boy throws his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, glaring at Issei with big amber eyes. It throws him off.

 

_ I’ve been glared at like that before. _

 

“It’s not a big deal,” he mumbles at Iwaizumi, eyes narrowing as he shuts his locker and walks away.

 

He finds Makki, leaning against his own locker, munching on something. He’s alone. Issei should feel happy, but instead, all he feels is guilty. Makki’s eyes find Issei, and he smiles, cheeks huge; this time, Issei can’t hide his laughter.

 

Makki swallows, and gasps out, “You look like you’ve escaped the clutches of death.”

 

Issei rubs at his face. “I have too much homework. People are already trying to talk to me.”  _ I might have found your half-brother.  _ The more he thinks about it, the more he sees Makki’s resemblance to Iwaizumi. They have similar cat-like eyes. They have similar spiking styles. They both have a sort of genuine personality.

 

“Aw, poor Issei, having to interact with other people. The world is so hard for you.”

 

Grumbling, Issei crosses his arms. “Jerk. Why aren’t  _ you _ being social, hmm?”

 

Makki laughs and rubs the back of his head. “Well, I thought you didn’t want me to. Plus, I prefer you to everyone else here.”

 

_ Oh.  _ Makki is more perceptive than he thought. Issei feels bad, and mutters, “You don’t have to do that. Jerk.”

 

Hanamaki shrugs, and they eat lunch together by the lockers. Issei feels relieved that Makki understands, but he feels guilty about blowing Iwaizumi and the other guy off. He tries not to think about it as the day progresses, but there’s a foreboding feeling in the back of his mind, and eyes that haunt him for the rest of the day.

 

  * \-    -



 

Practice is a bit more enjoyable. They receive their uniforms and warm-ups, and if Hanamaki looks kind of cute in his oversized Aoba Johsai jacket, Issei keeps his mouth shut. He’s number 12, and Makki is number 13.

 

Their captain is friendly. He compliments Issei on his skills at blocking and shows him a few tips. Issei wonders where Iwaizumi is, or if he’s playing volleyball at all anymore. Maybe he quit. Faintly, he hears his captain murmuring to another third year, “That one with pink hair-” (it’s  _ blonde, _ Issei corrects _ ) -  _ “is good. Have you seen him return spikes?”

 

Feeling pride swell in his chest, Issei walks over to his friend and whispers, “They’re talking about you.”

 

“Really?” Makki cranes his head to look over Issei’s shoulder, but the loud sound of the door swinging open gathers everyone’s attention. Iwaizumi and the weird boy that had been hanging around him before walk in, approaching the court.

 

Issei immediately feels hostile, and his fingers clench at his sides. He hears one of his teammates whisper, “Are those the Kitagawa players?”

 

_ They both played. No wonder the other one looked familiar to me.  _ Issei tries to keep a passive face as their captain walks by, introducing himself to the newcomers: Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru.

 

  * \-    -



 

“I didn’t like the other first years.”

 

Makki looks up at him curiously. “Why not?”

 

_ You know why.  _ “They seemed cocky. Or something like that.”

 

“I thought they were nice. I mean, they didn’t talk to us anyway.” There’s something else in Makki’s voice, something tense. “They were good. Oikawa is a good setter.”

 

Issei frowns and picks up his pace. He needs to go home and vent to his notebook. “Not as good as you, Takahiro.”

 

Hanamaki’s first name slips from Issei’s mouth before he can reign in his tongue. He flushes, but Makki smiles. “You’re lying, but it makes me feel better.”

 

They part ways once they reach the neighborhood, waving their goodbyes. Issei walks into a dark, empty house. Akane won’t be home until night, but the note on the table says there’s ramen in the fridge. He actually decides to  _ do _ his homework- Makki must be rubbing off on him- and after he eats, he walks upstairs to his room and writes.

 

This time, he doesn’t write about adventures and ponds or paper airplanes and fishing. He writes about bitter, sad things, like loved ones leaving and devastating realities and piercing amber eyes that warn him not to come any closer.

 

  * \-    -



 

Issei can’t believe he didn’t notice it before, but both Iwaizumi and he are in class 3. He sits all the way in the back, writes quick notes on his paper, glances at his watch, bounces his leg, and then repeats the process. Issei wants to think he’s annoying, but he’s actually a decent human being, unlike the others in this class. Iwaizumi looks up and their eyes catch.

 

_ What?  _ Iwaizumi mouths, brow furrowing. Issei rolls his eyes and turns forward.

 

When class ends, Iwaizumi approaches him in the hall. “Did you want to ask me something?”

 

Jolting, Issei fumbles with his books, but thankfully, he doesn’t drop them and make a bigger fool of himself than he already has. “Um, yes. I mean, no! No. Not at all.”

 

Tilting his head, Iwaizumi ponders his answer, and then shrugs. “Ok. See you.” He takes off down the hall just as Oikawa rounds the corner; apparently, they were both looking for each other. Oikawa’s eyes meet Issei’s, and he feels the same vibe emanate from him as from a couple days ago.

 

“Issei!” Makki’s voice chirps from behind. Turning, he watches Makki make his way down the hall to him, seeming out of breath. “We have a meeting in the club room, captain said to hurry.”

 

Makki leads the way down the hall. Issei glances back, but Iwaizumi and Oikawa are already gone.

 

  * \-    -



 

“Sometimes, I want to run away.” Makki speaks up over the wind. It’s Saturday, and they’re at their usual spot by the fishing pond. Issei doubts Hanamaki will ever catch anything, but he doesn’t dare voice his opinion and invoke Makki’s wrath.

 

He glances up from his book, staring down at their shimmering reflections in the pond. Makki’s hair is growing long, and Issei notices the way it ruffles against the bridge of his nose in the breeze. “Yeah.”

 

It’s a simple answer, but it satisfies Makki. He looks up at the sky, and says, “If we bought enough balloons, we could float away to an island, just you and me.”

 

“I’d like that,” Issei murmurs, and adds ‘floating on balloons to tropical islands’ onto his writing list.

 

“And that way, I’d finally be able to eat a coconut. Wouldn’t you like to taste a  _ real  _ coconut?”

 

“It sounds like Makki.exe has stopped functioning,” Issei retorts playfully. Makki gasps, narrowing his eyes, but he can’t hold the face for long, and both start laughing. It’s a warm day, and Makki rambles on and on about everything, but Issei prefers Makki to silence, and his ideas of balloons and islands and adventures to school and bitter, sad things.

 

After a while of sitting in companionable silence, Hanamaki says, “Coach Irihata is going to make me a wing spiker.”

 

Issei glances at him. His eyes are downcast as they scan the pond, and his fingers clench around the fishing rod. It’s not that wing spiker is a bad position; it’s actually one of the most desirable. But Makki wants to be  _ setter _ .

 

“You can work hard and change his mind,” Issei declares, relaxing back into the grass. “Oikawa may be good, but he can’t-”

 

“But he  _ can!”  _ Makki suddenly shouts, and the cheerful atmosphere Issei had grown used to shatters. “I’ve  _ seen _ him, Issei.” His voice lowers into something bitter. “He’s. . . he’s a  _ really  _ good setter.”

 

“It’s only been a week! How can you even tell?” Issei’s starting to get irritated. Comparing Makki to Oikawa isn’t something he wants to do on his weekend, because in his mind, Makki will always be better.

 

But Hanamaki stands up and throws his fishing rod to the ground, forgotten in the heat of the moment. “Don’t  _ patronize  _ me, Issei,” he hisses. Issei’s never seen Makki furious before, and especially not at him.

 

“I’m not patronizing you,” he snaps, standing up as well. “I’m trying to  _ help  _ you, asshole!”

 

“It isn’t working!” Makki yells, and heatedly storms away, leaving Issei alone at their fishing pond.

 

  * \-    -



 

Issei writes about a lonely boy who has been hurt and throws temper tantrums at the strangest times but still always shines like the sun. He writes about balloons and coconuts and a volleyball team that doesn’t include two certain people.

 

Akane doesn’t work on Sundays. The smell of food drifts upstairs and into Issei’s bedroom, so he forces himself out of bed and downstairs.

 

“You look tired,” his sister comments, but she doesn’t look that great herself.

 

“Makki and I got into a fight.”

 

“Oh,” she murmurs, looking a bit more concerned. “I didn’t think Hana-kun could even  _ get  _ angry. What happened?”

 

Issei thinks back, but he feels too weary to remember every little detail. “I said something and he took it the wrong way. He thinks that I try to comfort him with lies or something.”

 

“Do you?” Akane tilts her head. Issei looks down at his food and pushes it around with his finger. He’s lost his appetite.

 

“No. I’d never tell him a lie. I tell him the way I see things.”

 

Akane seems to figure out the problem and smiles. “Takahiro doesn’t always see things the way you do, Issei. Is this about that kid you were telling me about a couple days ago?”

 

“Yeah, Oikawa. Makki thinks he’s a better setter.”

 

“Do  _ you _ ?”

 

“Well. . .” Issei sheepishly runs a hand through his hair. “I guess so. But it doesn’t really matter. As long as Makki is playing his best, who cares how good Oikawa is? He can’t do everything. He’s  _ one  _ person. He’s a human, like the rest of us, and he’ll mess up, like the rest of us. And the thing is, Makki underestimates himself. He’s  _ really  _ good, Akane. He can set, he can spike, he can feint, he can control his tempo well, he can jump serve,  _ and  _ he can receive!” Issei’s almost out of breath, but he keeps ranting. “So what if Oikawa can set better? Makki is freakishly good at everything! He’s like Oikawa’s carbon copy, except better all around than at one thing.” He finally finishes with a heavy exhale.

 

Akane looks amused, as if that’s the most words she’s ever heard him speak in his life. “Well, then tell him that.”

 

Issei frowns, pondering those words. It clicks after a moment, and with a rushed, “Thanks, Akane!” he shoots up from the table, racing upstairs to write a note. He hurriedly folds it into a paper airplane, opens his window, and leans out into the fresh air, flicking his wrist.

 

_ Takahiro, you stupid idiot. I don’t care if Oikawa is the best setter in the world. He can’t do everything. You can set, spike, feint, jump serve, and receive. What I’m trying to say is, Oikawa excels in setting. But you excel in everything. You’re versatile, and even your old coach saw it. That’s why he switched you from setter to wing spiker, because you’re dependable, and you can help your team out anywhere. Your versatility is your strength, idiot, so don’t ever compare yourself to Oikawa. _

 

A little while later, a paper airplane lazily glides into his room, landing on Issei’s desk.

 

_ Jerkwad. You’re going to single-handedly be responsible for boosting my ego. _

 

  * \-    -



 

After that, practice seems to become more bearable. Issei still sticks to Hanamaki like glue, but the more Iwaizumi talks to him between classes, the more Issei starts to like him, and it isn’t long before the two have formed some type of weird friendship.

 

Oikawa is a different story. Issei doesn’t like him, and vice versa. And despite befriending Iwaizumi, Issei still has his suspicions regarding Makki’s mysterious half-brother.

 

He believes his suspicions are correct when he sees the two play together for the first time.  Iwaizumi and Hanamaki are the two wing spikers of the team- all around players that don’t sub out. They sync  _ immediately _ . Issei’s never seen Hanamaki play volleyball so well than when he and Iwaizumi gel together on the court, and quite frankly, it makes him jealous.

 

On the other hand, Oikawa and Hanamaki don’t gel at all, and it shows when they play volleyball. In all honesty, Issei knows Oikawa can set Makki just fine; it’s just that Oikawa is stubborn and doesn’t like him.

 

Oikawa, he can tell, is also jealous. And although Makki is oblivious, Oikawa  _ constantly _ watches him, glares at him- Issei almost thinks that both of them suffer from the same inferiority complex.

 

The scant amount Issei knows about Oikawa comes from Iwaizumi one day after class. As people push by and hurry to their lockers, he asks, “Hey, Iwaizumi. Could you tell me more about Oikawa?”

 

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi echoes. He almost looks defensive. “Well, what do you want to know?”

 

“Nothing deep,” Issei reassures him. “He just doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

 

“Oh. Well, he’s a weird guy.  _ Horrible  _ personality.” They both snicker, but Issei notices that fond look on Iwaizumi’s face. “But he’s been my best friend since I was a baby. He’s not as bad as you think he is, Matsukawa.”

 

“I never said he was bad-”

 

“I know what you meant,” Iwaizumi interrupts. “He’s defensive and protective, and it comes off as threatening. He’s not trying to be rude. Oikawa didn’t have that great of a childhood, and he’s always been terrible at making friends. But if you take the time to know him, he turns into this whole other type of person, and you’ll never regret befriending him.”

 

He has this sort of resolute look, a look that convinces Issei that  _ maybe  _ Oikawa isn’t so bad of a guy after all. Perhaps he’s ‘tragically misunderstood’ or something like that; not exactly a villain but not exactly a protagonist.

 

“Hey!” Makki calls, walking down the hallway with a broad grin. “I didn’t know Issei actually talked to people who aren’t _ me _ !”

 

Issei rolls his eyes and playfully knocks Makki off balance. “Shut up, doofus.” He can’t help but wonder if he looks at Makki the way Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa.

 

“Well, I gotta go find Oikawa for lunch. See you,” Iwaizumi says, but abruptly he stops halfway through the hall. “Hey,” he muses, “Actually, do you two want to eat with us?”

 

_ No, no, no. Don’t you dare, Makki- _

 

“That’d be great!” Makki exclaims, eyes bright as he tugs Issei along.

 

_ Oh, come on. _

 

And  _ Jesus,  _ is it awkward. Oikawa’s eyes brighten as he sees Iwaizumi (the most honest look Issei has ever seen on him), but turn dark when Issei and Hanamaki walk in. He’s reserved and short with them, eyes locked on his food; even his dear ‘Iwa-chan’ can’t get a rise out of him.

 

_ How long does it take to gain his trust?  _ Issei wonders. If what Iwaizumi said was true, Oikawa, beneath his cold exterior, has a heart of gold; but Issei has his doubts.  _ If he’s going to be a setter, he better learn to socialize with other people. _

 

  * \-     -



 

“Makki,” Issei groans out. “ _ Please.  _ Can we go home now?”

 

“I am  _ not  _ leaving this gym until I-” Makki grunts as he sets Issei’s bad pass- “get at least 100 more sets in.”

 

“You’re a  _ wing spiker, _ ” Issei whines. “And I’m a tired middle blocker who isn’t your guinea pig!”

 

“I’m actually also the  _ reserve  _ setter, so there,” Hanamaki quips, setting Issei once more. Sluggishly, Issei hits his quick over, but both react in surprise when Iwaizumi returns it, smirking at them from the other side of the net.

 

“What are you two still doing here?” he asks, straightening up and crossing his arms. Oikawa, trailing along the sidelines, watches the interaction with poorly veiled jealousy.

 

“Captain gave us the keys to close up,” Hanamaki explains. “So we were practicing.”

 

“ _ We  _ are now done,” Issei declares, about to drag Makki home with him. However, Iwaizumi picks up the ball and starts tossing it between his hands.

 

“What do you think about playing some two-on-two?” he suggests, green eyes glinting. Makki’s eyes sparkle like the character in Issei’s book, and he sighs. He’s doomed.

 

“ _ Yes!”  _ Hanamaki jumps up, pointing to Iwaizumi. “You and me vs. Issei and Oikawa!”

 

Both Oikawa and Issei jolt and hiss, “ _ What?!”  _ But Iwaizumi and Hanamaki are already on their side of the net, making a complicated high five routine and smiling and  _ ugh,  _ Issei thinks,  _ if I didn’t like Iwaizumi, I would have bashed his face in by now. _

 

Oikawa looks like he’s thinking the same thing when he slips under the net, joining Issei. They glance at each other awkwardly, and then Issei, trying to break the ice, mutters, “It’s. . . nice to meet you.”

 

“You too, Matsukawa,” Oikawa returns, eyes less cold than before. Now, he looks neutral and almost nonchalant. Issei hopes that this stupid game finishes quickly.

 

It goes on longer than any of them expected, because suddenly, they all click, as if by design. Oikawa is laughing and clapping Issei’s hand every other second, Iwaizumi is jeering at both of them, Hanamaki whoops and screams and makes a big deal out of every point he scores, and it’s  _ fun. _

 

Oikawa is a good setter. Issei is almost creeped out at how eager he is to know how the set could have been better; his sets seem fine. He starts to understand what Iwaizumi was saying.  _ If you take the time to know him, he turns into this whole other type of person, and you’ll never regret befriending him. _

 

Hanamaki and Iwaizumi win easy. Issei still can’t believe how effortlessly they work together, and how  _ ridiculous  _ they are, gloating after their win. But, as Issei wipes sweat off his forehead, he makes eye contact with Oikawa, who smiles.

 

“That was fun,” he admits, drawing closer to Issei. His smile is almost mischievous, but at the same time, it’s shy, and in that moment Issei decides that Iwaizumi was right about Oikawa. “If they hadn’t  _ cheated,  _ we  _ obviously  _ would have won.”

 

Issei grins back. “Then I suppose we’ll have to set a rematch tomorrow, huh?”

 

  * \-    -



 

It takes some time for Oikawa to warm up to Hanamaki, for reasons unknown to Issei. But he doesn’t have to wait too long. Hanamaki’s energy can’t exactly be evaded or disliked; he’s special in a way that people naturally gravitate towards him. Oikawa is one of his victims, but after awhile, he doesn’t seem to mind. They start to joke and laugh and spark up some sort of friendly rivalry, not as potent as the rivalry (or is it camaraderie? Issei can’t really tell) between Iwaizumi and Makki, but once they do start to gel, Issei feels relieved and complete.

 

It’s a strange feeling. But for some reason, Iwaizumi and Oikawa have become important to him, and he wants them to be important to Hanamaki, too. Once upon a time (and not too long ago), Issei would have been jealous. Maybe, thanks to their fight, he realizes now that Makki has no intention of leaving him.

 

Issei writes about volleyball and two-on-two games and four best friends that rule the court.

 

  * \-    -



 

_ “She got! Me! Goin! Craaaazyyyyyy!” _

 

_ “Blah blah! Blah blah! Blah blaaaaaaaaaaAAAAH!!!!” _

 

“Will you two  _ shut up?!”  _ Akane yells from downstairs. Instead, Issei cranks the music up as far as possible, and Hanamaki jumps up on Issei’s bed, singing into the imaginary microphone he’s holding. He points at Issei, face scrunching up dramatically as he sings his lungs out into the next verse. He loses his footing halfway through and tumbles off the bed. Their laughter echoes down the hall, and if Akane’s secretly recording the whole thing, no one will ever know.

 

For about two weeks, the entire neighborhood has been forced to suffer from the duo’s new obsession: K-pop. When they aren’t rushing through homework or passing the volleyball, Makki and Issei screech along to English or Korean pop music. Makki almost broke his arm jumping off furniture once. Issei’s broken a lamp, made a dent in his wall, and ripped his curtain in half by swinging obnoxiously on it.

 

Hanamaki and he both receive phones within a week of each other. Soon enough, paper airplanes are forgotten in lieu of texting and Snapchat and Instagram. Issei’s books sit up on the shelf collecting dust, and practicing volleyball is shoved off to the side. Instead, he sits on his bed or on the floor or at his desk, waging a Snapchat war with Oikawa or scrolling through the 200 selfies he and Makki have taken in a week.

 

He soon discovers that Iwaizumi, of all people, has a Snapchat. But the only reason he gets on the app is to keep up his streaks (he’s _way_ too competitive). Oikawa is vain and sends at least 20 selfies with his favorite filter (the one that makes him look good). Makki takes videos of his sisters, or videos of himself pranking people, or videos of himself singing, and Issei wishes he could save them.

 

And, of course, with the Internet, comes the greatest discovery of Issei and Hanamaki’s lives:  _ memes.  _ Issei sometimes thinks that Makki was made for the sole purpose of quoting a certain meme in  _ just  _ the right circumstances.

 

Things are changing, but no one in their friend group notices, not yet.

 

“We should call our friend group something,” Oikawa randomly declares at lunch during school. Iwaizumi’s eyebrows raise, as if vaguely interested.

 

“Oooh! EXO 2.0!” Hanamaki grins. Reminded of his favorite band, he slides on his headphones, swaying his head to the music as he stuffs his face with food.

 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You’re  _ ridiculous _ .”

 

Issei shushes him and takes a video, trying to suppress his laughter. “This is going on my snap story.” He captions it: “ _ Get you a man that can do both”  _ and eagerly awaits for Makki to see it.

 

“What even are you listening to?” Oikawa pokes Makki, interrupting his dancing. Makki glances at Issei and smirks, as if he’s claiming a new victim.

 

“Oh, you’ve done it now, Tooru,” Iwaizumi clicks his tongue. Makki slides the headphones on top of Oikawa’s head and watches as their setter’s eyes widen.

 

“ _ MAKKI! _ What is this song?!” Oikawa demands, wildly shaking a startled Hanamaki by the shoulders. “Why have I never heard of this?!”

 

It isn’t long before Oikawa is humming various K-pop songs under his breath, torturing poor Iwaizumi out of his mind. A couple weeks later, Issei laughs as he watches a video Iwaizumi posted. In it, Oikawa dances wildly and sings along to a certain k-pop song; Iwaizumi erupts into laughter and Oikawa screams when he realizes he's been videoed.

 

For some reason, Oikawa’s dancing reminds Issei of Makki, and he slaps his face when he realizes he’s been dreamily smiling into space.

 

  * \-     -



 

Issei sucks in a deep breath. He’s going to do it. He’s  _ not  _ backing out this time.

 

Makki, Iwaizumi, and Oikawa are all guffawing over some hilarious meme or whatever on Makki’s phone, wiping tears out of their eyes and rocking in their seats. Oikawa valiantly tries not to spit out his drink, face tomato-red. Issei would have taken a picture if he weren’t trying to work up the courage to ask a  _ simple question _ .

 

“Issei, oh my god, did you- did you see that?” Makki laughs, but when he realizes Issei looks nervous, his laughter fades. “Woah, if I knew Llamas with Hats offended you, I swear, I wouldn’t have-”

 

“No, you ass,” Issei grumbles, only slightly miffed that Makki would ever assume that he was  _ offended  _ by Llamas with Hats. Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s giggles die down, and they watch the flustered middle blocker mutter, “I. . . was wondering. . .”

 

“Wondering?” Makki echoes, voice soft.

 

“If, maybe, I don’t know. . . you guys would want to. . . spend. . . the night?”

 

Having three people over may not seem like a big deal to others. To Issei, it’s difficult and out of his comfort zone. He’s only ever had Makki over before, and that alone sapped his energy almost completely, and he still prefers silence to the wide majority of people. But spending the night is like the official initiation of friendship, and Issei thinks it’ll be fun, playing volleyball and video games and blasting K-pop songs at 1 in the morning.

 

But, at the same time, Issei thinks,  _ three people- _

 

_ “Yes!”  _ Oikawa exclaims. Makki must have told him about their disgruntled neighborhood, because he continues babbling, “We can piss your neighbors off!”

 

Well, there’s no backing out now.

 

Makki grins, almost tackling Issei out of his chair. “Aw, you big softie.” He ruffles Issei’s curly hair, smiling in a way that completely disarms the taller. Tilting his head, Hanamaki’s bangs brush his nose, and Issei wants to backflip off his chair.

 

_ Well _ , _ shit, _ Issei thinks, turning his flushing face away from Makki.

 

He has it  _ bad. _

 

  * \-     -



 

Akane will have a pleasant surprise in the morning, with three boys running rampant in her house and her brother sluggishly following them around, but Issei chooses not to dwell on that fact yet. Right now, all he cares about is  _ destroying  _ Iwaizumi and Oikawa in Mario Kart.

 

It’s hard to focus, with Makki dramatically throwing himself onto Issei’s lap every time he falls off a course, or gets hit by a green shell, or watches Iwaizumi lap him for the fourth time, because like Issei’s said before, Makki  _ sucks  _ at this game. He eventually throws his clicker into the corner of the room and makes himself comfortable on Issei’s bed, pulling out his phone.

 

“Hey, loser, stop being antisocial. That’s Issei’s job,” Oikawa crows, trying to knock Issei off balance by rocking into him. In retaliation, Issei rams him off the course in the game, and Hanamaki hurls a pillow at his head.

 

They completely ransack the kitchen afterwards. Although Issei knows he’ll be on dish duty for weeks, he doesn’t really care.

 

Instead of blasting music, the night brings the idea of hushed confessions and revealed secrets. Oikawa, resting on the floor in his futon, mischievously says, “It’s time to get  _ deep _ .”

 

Issei groans, but it only gets worse as Makki jumps onto his bed, having no intention of sleeping on the floor like Iwaizumi and Oikawa. He settles down under the blanket, back close to Issei’s chest.

 

_ Makki smells like nice _ , he thinks.  _ His hair is so long now, but I like it that way. His t-shirt is slipping off his shoulder. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I’m really messed up. _

 

“Oikawa should go first,” Hanamaki declares.

 

Huffing, Oikawa scrunches his nose up comically. “I don’t have any secrets! My life is an open book.” He laughs as Iwaizumi swats him and paws back, almost like a cat. Issei frowns, though, because Oikawa's smile looks different, like he’s hiding something, and Iwaizumi almost looks guilty.

 

_ What could they be hiding? _

 

Contrary to Oikawa’s words, no one offers up anything “deep” about themselves, and sooner than what should be allowed, Oikawa and Makki fall asleep. Issei counts to 300 in his head, and breathing out, leans up on his elbow, gazing at Hanamaki’s profile.

 

“They look peaceful when they sleep.”

 

Jolting, Issei makes eye contact with Iwaizumi, who has a knowing look on his face. “I don’t- I’m not-”

 

“You don’t have to pretend,” Iwaizumi sighs out. Issei stares owlishly, watches as Iwaizumi strokes back Oikawa’s hair, soothing it away from his forehead.  _ It isn’t that surprising to see him acting gentle _ , Issei muses,  _ because Iwaizumi is always attentive to everyone’s needs, even on the volleyball court. _

 

Issei rests his head back onto his pillow, Makki’s hair tickling his nose. Breathing in shakily and encouraged by Iwaizumi’s words, he tilts his head forward and tenderly kisses the skin behind Hanamaki’s ear.

 

“Goodnight, Hana.”

 

Issei dreams about flowers and fishing poles, tropical islands and coconuts, and kissing Hanamaki.

 

  * \-     -



Issei is alone in the locker room after practice, sliding off his kneepads, when Hanamaki walks in. Issei glances at him and smiles, about to greet him, when he notices the look on Makki’s face. 

“What’s wrong?”

Hanamaki sits beside him heavily, his seriousness uncharacteristic and strange. After another long moment of silence, Issei bumps their shoulders together, trying not to feel embarrassed when he murmurs, “You can tell me anything, Takahiro.”

His words bring a soft smile to Makki’s face. “Do you remember when we were practicing at the park a few months ago?” Fond feelings surround that memory, and Issei nods. “Well,” Hanamaki continues, smile fading, “I told you that we were going to be the best duo in Miyagi. And I was wrong.”

The words settle in. Issei hesitates, growing irritated, and says, “If this is about you not being as good as Oikawa again. . .”

“It’s not.”

Hanamaki’s voice is so soft and sad that Issei’s irritation fades away  _ very  _ quickly. “Then. . . what happened?”

“I forgot my jacket in the club room. I went back to grab it, when I heard the coaches and our captain talking. And-” Hanamaki gives a short, bitter laugh, “-do you know what they said? They were pitying us.  _ Pitying us.  _ If only we were a  _ little _ bit better. If only there weren’t  _ so many _ up and coming stars in the district. If only Oikawa and Iwaizumi didn’t overshadow us.”

A heavy silence falls between them. Issei feels his chest drop, taking the words to heart as he is prone to do, and anxiously drums his fingers against his thighs. 

“. . .Oh.” 

“We’ll never be the best, Issei.” Makki, constantly optimistic Makki, looks ready to punch a wall, his hands clenched into fists, his jaw clenched firm.

_ We’ll always be second best,  _ Issei’s mind echoes.

  * \-     -



Aoba Johsai develops into what others call a ‘powerhouse’. The volleyball team goes undefeated in all of its practice matches, including Shiratorizawa (because a certain first year wing spiker called Ushijima was sick with the flu and didn’t turn up). Oikawa and Iwaizumi complain about it all the way home; Issei and Hanamaki sit in front of them, both enveloped in deep thoughts.

 

“Do you think I’ll ever get a chance to set, Issei?”

 

Yellow lamplight illuminates his face briefly in the dark van, reminding Issei of their dreams of being the best duo in Miyagi, of playing on the international level, dreams that never will come true.

 

_ We aren’t the best duo, the level of competition in our bracket is too great for us both to play internationally, and we’ll always,  _ always,  _ be second best. _

 

Issei is tired of being pessimistic.

 

“Yeah. I know you will.”

 

Hanamaki gives him a soft smile and leans his head heavily on Issei’s shoulder. Issei feels his face flush scarlet and prepares to backflip out of his seat, when Makki quietly laughs, “You’re such a dork.”

 

“Doofus,” Issei whispers into his hair, trying and failing not to smile.

 

Issei decides never to be pessimistic again, because Hanamaki gets his wish in the first game of their next tournament. Oikawa catches the flu over the weekend and is unfortunately confined to his room. The coaches without hesitation assign Makki as setter and watch carefully as he warms up, scribbling notes on a clipboard. They try to learn his style, adjust from Oikawa’s power set to Hanamaki’s jump set.

 

This will be Makki’s first game in high school as official setter.

 

Issei worries for him even though he knows that his setter-  _ his setter-  _ isn’t the slightest bit nervous. Hanamaki is all smiles and peace signs, his sets sharp, his backsets even sharper. Not only does he have the hands of a setter, he also has the demeanour of one, the cool, collected attitude that Issei envies.

 

_ We will never be the greatest duo. We’ll probably always be second best. _

 

“This is our chance to outshine them all,” Hanamaki says, eyes glittering.

 

_ We’ll always be second best. _

 

“Damn right it is.”

 

They walk out on the court together, side by side, matching white and turquoise jerseys, number 12 and number 13.

 

  * \-      -



 

There is a moment during the game where their eyes meet.

 

Issei is mid-jump, swinging his arm, trying to draw the opponent blockers’ attention to him- the  decoy, the convincing lure. The ball won’t be set to him. He rarely touches the ball in the game anyway, because Oikawa’s sets are always stolen by Iwaizumi, and Issei is just a decoy, always  _ second  _ best.

 

But beside him, Hanamaki jumps up, his hands outstretched, ready to launch the volleyball across the court to Iwaizumi, and time seems to still as their eyes meet.

 

_ Set to me. Set to me. _

 

A setter and spiker share a bond, invisible links tying them together. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have shared such a bond since elementary school; thus, Oikawa’s tosses are always stolen, drawn to Iwaizumi.

 

Hanamaki has never played setter to Issei in a real game before. As both stare at each other, as Hanamaki’s fingers launch the ball across the court to Iwaizumi, they both feel the tug, the bond forming.

 

_ Set it to me, Takahiro. _

 

Iwaizumi slams it over the net, another point for Seijoh. The fans and players on the court cheer, pumping their fists and preparing to serve when Irihata calls a timeout. He looks excited for some reason.

 

“Is something wrong?” Hanamaki asks, confused. Issei jogs up beside him, tilting his head.

 

“No. Just come with me for a moment,” Irihata says, pulling both of them aside while Mizoguchi talks to the rest of the team.

 

Hanamaki frowns, and as soon as they’re some distance away from the team, he speaks up again. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, no.” Irihata spares a glance at Issei, a small smile on his face, as if he knows something that they don’t. “Just. . . toss to Matsukawa next play.”

 

“But I’m a decoy. I don’t-”

 

“You are  _ usually  _ a decoy, because that’s how Oikawa uses you. But this-” he clasps a firm hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder- “is not Oikawa. Hanamaki can utilize you in a different way.”

 

The players runs back out onto the court, not particularly minding Issei nor Hanamaki as they follow.

 

“Matsukawa,” Makki draws his attention, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Do you want me to set you?”

 

“If the time is right,” Issei hums, giving him a small smile. He can see the pinwheels turning in Hanamaki’s brain, processing his words. They both take their position beside the net and glance at each other one more time.

 

The ball flies over the net and is promptly returned by a poor pass. Iwaizumi dives for the ball and with one arm digs it up at a difficult angle to set. Hanamaki runs after it, his back to Issei, and both jump. 

 

_ Set it to me.  _

 

Time slows as Makki’s fingers touch the ball, his head craning back to pinpoint Issei’s position, amber eyes wide. A hundred different scenarios run through his mind at once. Sounds drown out as their eyes meet once again, and Makki can hear Issei calling to him, begging him for the sets that he has been deprived of.

 

Hanamaki launches the ball at Issei, and right hand flying forward, Issei spikes the ball down on the other side of the court. He can feel his palm stinging- a _ good  _ sting- a sensation he hasn’t felt in quite awhile. 

 

Their teammates cheer, as well as Aoba Johsai’s student section of wild fans, and Issei feels that fiery, competitive drive swell up in his chest as he turns back to Makki. Their hands slap together, both shouting “ _ Yes!”  _

 

_ Maybe everyone is right. Maybe the two of us  _ will _ always be second best. But we’ll never let that stop us from being the best players we can be.  _


End file.
